


Wanna

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dildos, Ficlet, M/M, Object Insertion, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard rides a Dwarven toy before the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanna

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Thorin watches while Bard fucks himself on a dildo” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21703403#t21703403).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s a flicker of surprise when Bard first agrees to the tradition—Thorin, to be quite honest, didn’t think Bard would have the courage for it. Fighting a dragon is easy enough; any warrior would try. But submitting oneself to a foreign king is another matter, and Thorin finds himself savouring this particular tradition as a result; he doesn’t know when he’ll have it with a man like Bard again. 

Though too tall by Dwarven standards and a little too thin around the waist, Bard is handsome. It’s undeniable, even with all his scruff. He’s cleaned up since they first met him, toting a grungy barge. He came in dressed like the lord he is, the dark hair pulled back from his face and the thick stubble neatly trimmed to an even length. But there’s still a certain _ruggedness_ to him, like he swam the Running River to get here and sweat the whole way in the sun. Sweat’s beaded on him now, clinging to his forehead and making his bared chest glisten. He wears nothing but his coat, long but hanging open, the rest folded in a pile beside him. He’s kneeling and exposed, head hung and lashes against his cheeks. 

One hand is on the ground, the other between his legs. His cock came in unusually soft for a man honoured by the sight of Thorin Oakenshield, but it hardened up when he glanced the dwarf behind Thorin’s throne. His nephews stand on either side of him, just a little back so as not to offer their uncle any distraction. But Bard can see them, and he occasionally dares a furtive look at Fíli. Thorin only allows it because he likes the way it makes Bard’s cock twitch, his teeth grit and his face wash over in determination. He drops his weight onto the thick dildo screwed into the floor—a sturdy but removable design from Bofur’s reestablished toy company. The metal cock is modeled after the King Under the Mountain, as most of them are—it seems only right that the lonely should taste the kiss of their lord. But Bard in particular deserves to be melded around such royal splendor. 

Bard takes a deep breath, his mouth wide, and he lifts up again on his knees, slow enough to let Thorin see it all. He watches more and more of the dildo reveal itself beneath Bard’s hanging balls. Then Bard reaches the top and begins to sink back down, his neck arching up and a groan rippling from his throat. He’s a beautiful creature indeed, and Thorin spreads his legs accordingly, giving his own erection room to breathe. 

From there, Bard allows his pace to steadily increase. At first, he mostly growls, clenches and adjusts, but soon enough, he’s mewling, arching forward and squirming on it—both Thorin’s shape and Bofur’s craft are specially designed to please. Bard lets himself fall into that. Thorin suspects that the poor man doesn’t enjoy much of this pleasure at home, and the pent up urge spills forward into his performance. He rides the metal cock with a warrior’s skill, hard and fast and lovely to watch. The sound of it squelching around the lube dribbling from his hole makes Thorin’s tongue poke out to swipe along his lips. He can smell the stench of _sex_ , arousal and sweat. It’s a pity he hasn’t had the opportunity to have these rituals more often. 

Bard takes a fair amount of time. He’s older, by human standards, and presumably experienced, if his number of children is anything to go buy. And however bravely he takes it, it’s not in his customs to fuck himself in front of Dwarven lords, in the sweltering caverns of the mountain, with three sets of hungry eyes watching his every move. A dwarf would spill themselves much quicker, but Thorin derives more pleasure out of every passing moment, until he begins to wonder if he should call on his own toys as soon as this is over. He could send Kíli to fetch someone now. 

Instead, he waits for Bard to cry out, head tossing forward as he releases, his hand quickly flying to catch it all. He’s been instructed not to touch himself, but Thorin allows him the simple act of collecting his own seed, if only to spare the floor—the ceremony doesn’t require licking it away, and not all participants are willing to put their tongues where boots have been. Although, Thorin imagines he would very much enjoy watching the lord of Dale sully himself so. 

When Bard’s spilled everything he has, he slumps down. He keeps the dildo stuffed inside him. For a moment, he looks confused about what to do about his hand, but Thorin tests his luck by drawling, “Swallow it.” Bard’s eyes flicker up. To Thorin’s internal delight, Bard obeys. He lifts his hand to his mouth and laves his tongue over it, casually licking the milky white seed from his fingers. 

Only when they’re clean does Thorin announce, “Good enough.” He waves his hand in dismissal, declaring, “You have proven yourself worthy of pleasuring a dwarf from the line of Durin, Bard the Bowman. You have my permission to court my nephew.”

A slight grin tugs at the side of Bard’s lips. He pushes up, rising off the toy, with a hitch of breath and a quick grimace. Fíli’s already moving from Thorin’s side. He rushes to Bard, kneeling down to gather Bard’s face in his hands. They share a pleased, chaste kiss, and then Bard is climbing to his feet, Fíli helping to gather his clothes. Before they leave, Bard gives Thorin a half-bow, saying, “Thank you.” Fíli gives Thorin a warm smile. 

As they walk from the hall together, arms entwined, Thorin casually asks, “Is your elf ready, Kíli?” He glances aside. Kíli blushes, bites his bottom lip, and nods.


End file.
